HUMBOLDT: WHAT IS GEOGRAPHY AND HOW A GEOGRAPHER WORKS

Twelve years have elapsed since I left Europe to explore the interior of the New Continent. From my earliest days I was excited by studying nature, and was sensitive to the wild beauty of a landscape bristling with mountains and covered with forests. I found that traveling out there compensated for a hard and often agitated life. But pleasure was not the only fruit of my decision to contribute to the progress of the physical sciences. For a long time I had prepared my self for the observations that were the main object of my journey to the torrid zone. I was equipped with instruments that were easy and convenient to use, made by the ablest artists, and I enjoyed the protection of a government that, far from blocking my way, constantly honored me with its confidence. I was supported by a brave and learned friend whose keenness and equanimity never let me down, despite the dangers and exhaustion we faced.

Under such favorable circumstances, and crossing regions long unknown to most European nations, including Spain itself, Bonpland [Humboldt’s companion] and I collected a considerable number of materials, which when published may throw light on the history of nations, and on our knowledge about nature. Our research developed in so many unpredictable directions that we could not include everything in the form of a travel journal, and have therefore placed our observations in a series of separate works.

Two main aims guided my travels... I wanted to make known the countries I visited, and to collect those facts that helped elucidate the new science vaguely named the "Natural History of the World, Theory of the Earth, or Physical Geography". Of these two aims, the second seemed the more important. I was passionately keen on botany and certain aspects of zoology, and flattered myself that our researches might add some new species to those already known. However, rather than discovering new, isolated facts, I preferred linking already known ones together. The discovery of a new genus seemed to me far less interesting than an observation on the geographical relations of plants, or the migration of social plants, and the heights that different plants reach on the peaks of the cordilleras.

The natural sciences are connected by the same ties that link all natural phenomena together. The classification of species, which we should consider as fundamental to botany, and whose study has been facilitated by introducing natural methods, is to plant geography what descriptive mineralogy is to the rocks that form the outer crust of the earth. To understand the laws observed in the rocks, and to determine the age of successive formations and identify them from the most distant regions, a geologist should know the simple fossils that make up the mass of mountains. The same goes for the natural history that deals with how plants are related to each other, and with the soil and air. The advancement of plant geography depends greatly on descriptive botany; it would hinder the advancement of the sciences to postulate general ideas by neglecting particular facts.

Such considerations have guided my researches, and were always present in my mind as I prepared for the journey. When I began to read the many travel books … I regretted that previous learned travelers seldom possessed a wide enough knowledge to avail themselves of what they saw. It seemed to me that what had been obtained had not kept up with the immense progress of several sciences in the late 18th century, especially geology, the history and modifications of the atmosphere, and the physiology of plants and animals. Despite new and accurate instruments, I was disappointed, and most scientists would agree with me that while the number of precise instruments multiplied, we were still ignorant of the height of so many mountains and plains; of the periodical oscillations of the aerial oceans; the limit of perpetual snow under the polar caps and on the borders of the torrid zones; the variable intensity of magnetic forces; and many equally important phenomena.

Maritime expeditions and voyages round the world have rightly conferred fame on naturalists and astronomers appointed by their governments, but while these distinguished men have given precise notions of the coasts of countries, of the natural history of the ocean and islands, their expeditions have advanced neither geology nor general physics as travels into the interior of a continent should have. Interest in the natural sciences has trailed behind geography and nautical astronomy. During long sea voyages, a traveler hardly ever sees land; and when land is seen after a long wait, it is often stripped of its most beautiful products. Sometimes, beyond a sterile coast, a ridge of high mountains covered in forests is glimpsed, but its distance only frustrates the traveler.

Land journeys are made very tiresome by having to transport instruments and collections, but these difficulties are compensated by real advantages. It is not by sailing along a coast that the direction, geology, and climate of a chain of mountains can be discovered. The wider a continent is, the greater the range of its soil and the richness of its animal and vegetable products, and the further the central chain of mountains lies from the ocean coast, the greater the variety of stony strata that can be seen, which reveal the history of the earth. Just as every individual can be seen as particular, so we can recognize individuality in the arrangement of brute matter in rocks, in the distribution and relationships of plants and animals. The great problem of the physical description of the planet is how to determine the laws that relate the phenomena of life with inanimate nature.

In trying to explain the motives that led me to travel into the interior of a continent, I can only outline what my ideas were at an age when we don’t have a fair estimate of our faculties. What I had planned in my youth has not been completely carried out. I did not travel as far as I had intended when I sailed for South
America; nor did it give me the number of results I expected. The Madrid Court had given me permission in 1799 to sail on the Acapulco galleon and visit the Philippine Islands after crossing its New World colonies. I had hoped to return to Europe across Asia, the Persian Gulf, and Baghdad.

Having outlined the general aim, I will now briefly glance at the collections and observations we made. The maritime war during our stay in America made communications with Europe very uncertain and, in order for us to avoid losses, forced us to mail three different collections. The first we sent to Spain and France, the second to the United States and England, and the third, the most considerable, remained constantly with us. Toward the end of our journey, this last collection formed 42 boxes containing a herbal of 6,000 equinoctial plants, seeds, shells, and insects, and geological specimens from Chimborazo, New Granada and the banks of the Amazon, never seen in Europe before. After our journey up the Orinoco, we left a part of this collection in Cuba in order to pick it up on our return from Peru and Mexico. The rest followed us for five years along the Andes chain, across New Spain, from the Pacific shores to the West Indian seas. The carrying of these objects, and the minute care they required, created unbelievable difficulties, quite unknown in the wildest parts of Europe.

Our progress was often held up by having to drag after us for five and six months at a time from 12 to 20 loaded mules, change these mules every eight to 10 days, and oversee the Indians employed on these caravans. Often, to add new geological specimens to our collections, we had to throw away others collected long before. Such sacrifices were no less painful than what we lost through accidents. We learned too late that the warm humidity and the frequent falls of our mules prevented us from preserving our hastily prepared animal skins and the fish and reptiles in alcohol.

I note these banal details to show that we had no means of bringing back many of the objects of zoological and comparative anatomical interest whose descriptions and drawings we have published. Despite these obstacles, and the expenses entailed, I was pleased that I had decided before leaving to send duplicates of all we collected to Europe. It is worth repeating that in seas infested with pirates, a traveler can only be sure of what he takes with him. Only a few duplicates that we sent from America were saved; most fell into the hands of people ignorant of the sciences. When a ship is held in a foreign port, boxes containing dried plants or stones are merely forgotten, and not sent on as indicated to scientific men.

The same reasons that slowed our communications also delayed the publication of our work, which has to be accompanied by a number of engravings and maps.

If such difficulties are met when governments are paying, how much more worse they are when paid by private individuals. It would have been impossible to overcome these difficulties if the enthusiasm of the editors had not been matched by public reaction.

In our publications, Bonpland and I have considered every phenomenon under different aspects, and classed our observations according to the relations they have with one another. To convey an idea of the method followed, I will outline what we used in order to describe the volcanoes of Antisana and Pichincha, as well as Jorullo, which of the night of the 20th of September 1759 rose 1,578 feet up from the plains of Mexico. We fixed the position of these remarkable mountains in longitude and latitude by astronomical observations. We took the height of different parts with a barometer, and determined the dip of the needle and magnetic forces. We collected plants that grew on the slopes of these volcanoes, and specimens of different rocks. We found out the exact height above sea level at which we made each collection. We noted down the humidity, the temperature, the electricity and the transparency of the air on the brinks of Pichincha and Jorullo; we drew the topographical plans of these volcanoes by measuring vertical bases and altitude angles. In order to judge the correctness of our calculations, we have preserved all the details of our field notes.

During my navigation up the South American rivers and over land, I had written a very brief itinerary where I described on the spot what I saw when I climbed the summit of a volcano or any other mountain, but I did not continue my notes in the towns, or when busy with something else. When I did take notes, my only motive was to preserve those fugitive ideas that occur to a naturalist, to make a temporary collections of facts and first impressions. But I did not think at the time that these jotted-down notes would form the basis of a work offered to the public. I thought that my journey might add something to science, but would not include those colorful details that are the main interest in journeys. Since my return, the difficulties I experienced trying to write a number of treatises and make certain phenomena known have overcome my reluctance to write the narrative of my journey. I fear that for many years no foreign traveler will be able to cross those countries I visited. I also venture to hope, once peace has been established, that my work may contribute to a new social order. If some of these pages are rescued from oblivion, those who live on the banks of the Orinoco or Atabapo may see cities enriched by commerce and fertile lands cultivated by free men on the very spot where during my travels I saw impenetrable jungle and flooded lands.

Alexander von Humboldt’s introduction to "Personal Narrative of a Journey to the Equinoctial Regions of the New Continent", dated Paris, February 1812. Digitized, adapted and illustrated to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.

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